


Power Play

by perfectpro



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, F/F, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-23 01:40:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30047955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfectpro/pseuds/perfectpro
Summary: They’ve been here before, where Lydia comes in with a fake excuse and her status as the valedictorian to cover her tracks, making up questions that don’t matter, because that’s just the way she is. Allison isn’t sure that Lydia has ever asked a question that she didn’t already know the answer to.
Relationships: Allison Argent/Lydia Martin
Kudos: 7





	Power Play

**Author's Note:**

> Lydia is eighteen in this fic, which is why it isn't marked as underage. However, this fic still showcases an uneven power dynamic. However much control that Lydia seems to have in their relationship, Allison is older, more mature, and has more control.

Allison is looking through the latest budget proposal to go to the school board when there’s a quick knock at her door. She looks up just in time to find Kira, one of the administrative secretaries, poke her head through the door with a smile. “Yes, Ms. Yukimura?” she asks, glancing over at the woman curiously.

“There’s a student here to see you. Lydia Martin, the senior valedictorian,” Kira says, eyes flicking down to a clipboard to check her information. “She has some questions about the graduation ceremony, and she says she has to see you now. If you’re busy, I can ask her to come back?”

Keeping a perfectly neutral expression, Allison nods and taps her pen against the desk before setting aside the folder she’d been occupied with. “No, if she has questions I should try to answer them now. You can send her in,” she allows, crossing her legs and watching with interest as Kira moves aside to let Lydia through the doorway.

Sharp black heels are the first things to make an appearance, leading to pale legs that are covered only by a short skirt that’s much too far above her knees to meet dress code. Then a blouse that needs two more buttons to be done before it could be considered proper, and a golden locket that dangles between two full breasts. Finally, Lydia’s features comes into view, heart shaped face surrounded by her strawberry blonde hair. With the way she looks, Allison considers, it’s no wonder that popularity probably never seemed like a contest to Lydia.

Parting her sinful cupid’s bow, Lydia says, “Hello, Madame Argent.” Her voice is even, and her green eyes glance around the office casually as she walks over to one of the chairs in front of the desk and leans against it like she’s about to sit down.

“Ms. Martin,” Allison greets her as though she could be any other student, carefully keeping an eye on Kira as she shuffles a few papers. “Ms. Yukimura, will there be anything else?” she asks when Kira walks in behind Lydia, clipboard brandished.

Walking over to the desk and laying the clipboard down, Kira says, “Yes, just need your signature on a few things. The superintendent called down yesterday, apparently the lacrosse field is going to need new grass again.”

“Yes, yes, there,” Allison says, her signature on the line as she moves on to initial in the appropriate places. “That’s done, thank you.” God only knows what it’s for, because it’s not like she’d been listening a few moments ago. 

Kira smiles and walks around the desk again, Lydia moving slightly out of the way to let her through. “That’s all,” she says, closing the door behind her.

Watching as Lydia remains standing beside the door, Allison puts her pen in the desk drawer and folds her hands. “What can I do for you today, Ms. Martin?” she asks leisurely, waiting until Lydia’s leaned against the door hard enough for them to hear the lock clicking into place.

With a slow grin, Lydia shoves off from the door and goes to sit down in one of the chairs, crossing her legs and sending her already short skirt up to reveal a few more inches of creamy skin. “I was hoping you’d ask that,” she says, tantalizing grin accompanying the words, because they both know what this is.

They know how it ends, Allison thinks, pulse racing, and she can’t say that she minds the spontaneous visit, even if she does have work she could be doing. God knows she’s stayed after hours because of Lydia before, and this certainly won’t be the last time.

Because Lydia’s blouse is unbuttoned so low, it’s clear that anyone with enough motivation could lean up and see the tops of her breasts, maybe make out the color bra that she’s wearing underneath the thin fabric of the uniform’s shirt.

Allison has more than enough motivation, so she leans forward over her desk, trying to disguise the movement by adjusting a pen that’s rolled away slightly. Lydia sees through it, surely, pursing her lips in a bemused sort of manner as she plays with the collar of her shirt in a way that could be offhand if she were around anyone else or if she wasn’t tugging it low enough to where Allison can just make out the sheer navy blue cups that are covering her breasts.

They’ve been here before, where Lydia comes in with a fake excuse and her status as the valedictorian to cover her tracks, making up questions that don’t matter, because that’s just the way she is. Allison isn’t sure that Lydia has ever asked a question that she didn’t already know the answer to. 

Lydia walks in with her shirt mostly buttoned and free of wrinkles, makeup done so perfectly as to look like a model, and when she leaves her skirt will be shifted at an angle and she’ll have to touch up her lipstick before she unlocks the door and leaves the office. At this point, they’ve got a kind of routine down, a series of checks to make sure they both look acceptable for it’s time to resume their roles in the world outside of her office.

Shifting ever so slightly as she leans back, Lydia lets one of her hands on the collar of her shirt drift lower to the first button that’s done up, which she pops open leisurely. “Are you going to sit and stare at me all day, Allison?” she asks abruptly, a sudden departure from how this usually goes.

The question is preposterous but unexpected, as Allison tries to cling to reality as long as possible, but Lydia plays the temptress so well. They’ve passed so many class periods with Lydia perching herself on the desk just so, to the point where her skirt flips up and Allison can see the evidence that she’s wearing a thong or nothing at all underneath. Allison can’t count the number of times that Lydia has had to persuade her with a pout on her lips and her hands slipping around Allison’s waist.

Allison is always willing, always going to give everything of herself up to this girl, but it’s rare that Lydia demands it so explicitly.

“If I thought that you would let me, yes,” Allison answers at last, finally standing and walking to the other side of her desk, bypassing Lydia by mere inches as she leans against the sturdy oak. “I don’t know if I’d be what you wanted.”

It’s a confession if it’s anything, and Allison tries to not say things like that usually, but the truth is that Lydia is a beautiful eighteen year old girl who could have anyone she wanted. Every time that she leaves Allison’s office, some part of Allison is always afraid that it will be the last time.

A flash of displeasure wracks Lydia’s features before it’s replaced as quickly as it appeared with a familiar put upon look. “If I wanted someone who only wanted to look at me, I’d model for the art class,” she snaps waspishly, jerking her head and twisting her earring in a sign of annoyance. She hesitates, though, before turning and leveling the older woman with a defiant stare. “And if I wanted someone who didn’t know how to touch me, there are plenty of teenage boys for me to choose from.”

One of Allison’s hands moves off the desk and Lydia catches it instinctively, tangling their fingers together. “Well, what do you want, then?” Allison asks, the words coming out in barely a whisper.

Lydia’s eyes go soft, and she moves Allison’s hand to rest it on her thigh, covering it with her own. “I want you to show me,” she says, voice low as she drags Allison’s hand high enough to where it’s starting to push up the hem of her skirt, “that you know how to touch me.”

Her eyes are dark and her skin is hot under Allison’s touch, and Allison does know how to touch her. She moves her hand up, reveling in the dangerous smile that winds its way across Lydia’s lips as she uncrosses her legs. It’s incredibly easy to move her hand from the top of Lydia’s thigh to between her legs, continuing on until her fingers brush against fabric.

It’s been evident to Allison since they first started this that Lydia has an excellent poker face, and right now is no different. She looks intrigued, perhaps, certainly not disinterested, but she doesn’t look aroused or desperate or like she’s a moment away from pleading. The hitch in her breath is the only thing that gives her away, and she moves her hips forward in the slightest motion that still reveals so much. It’s enough encouragement that Allison leans forward and runs her other hand along Lydia’s side, the thin fabric only the barest of layers between them.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you today, or this early,” Allison confesses, the words getting trapped between them as Lydia moves forward.

“I woke up thinking about you,” Lydia manages, positioning her hands at Allison’s waist and pulling the older woman in closer. She grins, a laugh falling out of her lips, and says, “I dreamed about you last night.”

Stroking her thumb along the inside of Lydia’s thigh, Allison leans down to kiss her, only a little hurried when Lydia moves into it so eagerly that she sighs into the touch. There is always so much of Lydia to be touched, so many variables to be played with for the best outcome, and Allison cannot resist anything when Lydia sets it in front of her as an option. “What did you dream about?” she asks, moving away from Lydia’s mouth only to place her knees on the sides of Lydia’s thighs and straddle her.

Lydia pauses, eyes unfocused for a moment before she answers, “I dreamed about the graduation ceremony, that I was giving my speech, and you were touching me.” Her voice is dreamy, like the memory is almost as good as the real thing could be.

There’s no reason for them not to have the real thing, or at least as real as they can get right now, and Allison pushes her skirt up so that she can spread her knees a little wider and settle into Lydia’s lap properly, running her fingers ever so lightly on the edges of Lydia’s underwear all the while. “How was I touching you?” she asks, breathing the words against the shell of Lydia’s ear. Her efforts are rewarded when Lydia moves forward to chase the sensation.

“You were hiding behind the podium, and you pushed my gown up when I got there.” Her voice drifts off, and Allison slips a finger beneath the lace, listening with delight as Lydia’s breath catches and then she rushes to continue, “You ate me out while I gave my speech. Allison, it felt amazing; your mouth felt amazing.”

The poker face that Lydia goes through life with is a hard one to crack, but she can’t hide it when she’s aroused to the point of desperation. That’s where she is now, it’s impossible to deny with how wet she is, her underwear soaked already. Just from the dream, just from thinking about Allison’s mouth. Lydia bites her lip, smudging her lipstick further, and Allison rewards her as naturally as she knows how: by moving her underwear aside and slipping two fingers inside her, relishing how Lydia’s thighs clench at the sensation.

Some days, Lydia comes into Allison’s office and takes. She shoves Allison onto her desk and plays with her nipples until Allison is a whimpering mess, incoherent without some form of release. She’ll keep her on the brink, biting her thighs and skillfully avoiding her clit with her tongue until Allison presses her mouth there and begs for it. She leaves marks over Allison’s collarbones, scrapes her teeth on the underside of her breasts, and then fixes her lipstick as an afterthought before she makes her exit. It’s not unusual for her to come by after school with some complaint, needing a project partner switched or wanting more funding for student council, and to bargain with Allison with one hand under the principal’s skirt and her mouth sucking on Allison’s neck.

It didn’t take long for Allison to learn that Lydia always gets what she wants, and some days she wants Allison to eat her out for an entire class period, legs spread on Allison’s desk, biting her hand to stop herself from crying out. Some days she wants to try out toys, experimenting with things Allison wouldn’t otherwise know how to use without an instruction manual. 

Yes, Lydia gets what she wants, but some days she wants that control be taken from her. Some days she wants to be used, to suck on Allison’s breasts while the older woman fills out paperwork, to lay back on the desk and let Allison have her way with her. Some days she wants Allison to make her get herself off without help, rubbing against Allison’s thigh and whimpering to be touched. Some days she wants to be denied, she to be spanked and teased and pushed almost too far.

“Do you want my mouth now?” Allison asks, pressing her lips gently down the pale column of Lydia’s throat. She speeds her hand up, moving her fingers faster and pushing further, a counterpoint to her soft touch, not bothering to suppress her smile when Lydia shivers.

Letting out a shaky breath, Lydia nods, moaning lowly through clenched teeth. She turns her face to Allison’s, kissing her with an edge of helplessness. “Please, God, please. Want your face between my thighs, you always make me feel so good.” She’s practically panting, that’s how turned on she is.

Not that Allison needed any additional proof, but Lydia’s underwear is drenched to the point that it’ll be damp for the rest of the day, plus she’s basically leaking, and the noise of Allison’s fingers pushing inside her is loud and obscene.

The thought is tempting. Lydia spread out on the desk, ass just off the edge, legs thrown over Allison’s shoulders as the older woman sits in her chair and sucks at her clit. It’s one of Allison’s favorite things, and Lydia knows it, but the opportunity of Lydia pinned beneath her in the chair is too good to pass up.

“Too bad. You’re going to come like this,” Allison tells her, adding a third finger and twisting her hand while they enter. Lydia is tight but not so tight as to be unwelcoming, her body adjusting easily to the touch. She swipes her thumb over Lydia’s clit, edging the line of giving her friction without applying any pressure.

Lydia tips her head back against the chair, biting down on her lip and pressing her nails into the cushion beneath her. When her perfectly manicured nails press down on the upholstery, it gives Allison an idea of something else they could be doing.

“Touch your breasts, sweetheart,” she announces, punctuating the sentence by sucking harshly on the redhead’s collarbone. “You shouldn’t have worn that nice a bra if you didn’t want to show it off.”

Scrambling to comply, Lydia unbuttons her blouse further with shaking fingers, finally revealing the navy blue piece that Allison had caught a glimpse of when she’d first entered the office. The cups are mesh with some lace at the edge, designed to be more decorative than functional, and Lydia’s nipples are firm against the fabric.

Her skin is so pale that the blue makes for a lovely contrast, especially with how flushed her chest gets when she’s aroused. Before Lydia can do anything more than push her shirt out of the way, Allison dips forward, sucking pointedly on the peaked bits of flesh and listening to the moan that Lydia has to strangle before it gets too loud. She pulls back and moves to kiss Lydia’s mouth once more, providing something for her to muffle the noise with.

It’s a power trip, her student squirming beneath her, pinned under Allison’s weight and her thighs shaking from her touch. Lydia is gorgeous, the type of girl who could stop traffic if she wanted, the type of girl who could insist that anyone come at her beck and call, and she comes to Allison for this kind of release.

“Oh, God,” Lydia whimpers, and Allison pulls back to see her nimble fingers pinching her nipple through the fabric. She leans down to bite at the other one, harsh in the way that Lydia likes best, shoving her thumb into the girl’s clit just to feel the younger girl’s body shiver beneath her own. “Allison, make me come already,” she hisses, forgetting for the moment that she’s not the one in charge.

Just for that, Allison slows down, crooking her fingers in the most obnoxious of ways. She knows what angle is guaranteed to do Lydia in, so she makes sure each stroke is a near-miss, angling to exasperate her rather than to give her any satisfaction. “That’s Madame Argent,” Allison purrs, kissing her way up Lydia’s neck to find the redhead pushing her head back against the fabric with her eyes squeezed shut.

Lydia will be as compliant as she knows how up until it’s inconvenient. Once Allison doesn’t give her what she wants when she wants it, she reveals the side of herself that undoubtedly developed from having parents fighting over her from a young age. Yes, she’s used to getting what she wants, and it shows.

From this position, giving Lydia’s clit any more friction is a difficult task, so when a few seconds pass by and Lydia doesn’t say anything, Allison leans forward to bite the girl’s nipple. She puts more pain than pleasure into it, and it’s worth it for the satisfaction that floods her when Lydia gasps helplessly, as though the words were stolen from her, “Madame Argent.” 

Lydia’s hand, still at her breasts like Allison instructed her, presses into the flesh, leaving indents behind from her fingernails. Her eyes flutter open, wide and unfocused, and Allison knows that no matter how much control Lydia likes to think that she has between them, it’s only Allison that has this kind of power. 

She doesn’t change her rhythm, doesn’t try to give Lydia any more stimulation, just holds it steady and listens as Lydia can’t stop herself from begging for it, pleas falling from her mouth. “Please, Madame Argent, please. I’m so close, God, please,” she asks, hips shifting to meet every thrust of Allison’s hand.

“That’s a good girl,” Allison encourages her, and she gives in, twisting her fingers just so and licking Lydia’s breasts through the fabric of her bra. She drags her tongue over the nipple she’d abused earlier, sucking an apology into the skin when she feels Lydia come undone beneath her, walls squeezing down tight.

Working her through the aftershocks, Allison marvels at just how wet Lydia is, how much of her slick has flooded onto the fabric of the seat. The noises aren’t as loud as when she was focused on driving Lydia to the brink, but there’s still no mistaking the sound of Lydia’s cunt eagerly accepting Allison’s fingers. That and the labored sound of Lydia’s breathing, the girl’s chest heaving and lifting the locket that dangles between her breasts. Allison watches it shift, still suckling on her nipple.

When Lydia makes a noise like a soft cry, Allison removes one of her fingers, but she keeps two inside of her, coaxing her to stay open. “Come on, sweetheart, I know you’ve got another in you,” she whispers, because if she times it right, she knows that Lydia’s second orgasm will leave her shaking.

“Madame Argent,” Lydia starts, biting back a moan when Allison crooks her fingers inside of her. 

“Do you not want to?” Allison asks, stilling her hand entirely, pressing down hard on the spot that drives Lydia crazy. Today is no exception, and the younger girl can do nothing but nod, hips picking up speed to make up for the fact that Allison isn’t supplying any motion anymore. “There we go, just like that. I just want you to feel good,” Allison coaxes her, smirking when she presses down harder and Lydia moans helplessly.

To Allison’s delight, there are tears in Lydia’s eyes when she looks down at her, pupils absolutely blown. “Allison, please, Allison,” Lydia chants, the words flowing freely, because there’s no use for pretense now. When she stops begging, her lips moving uselessly, and Allison can’t help but think of that perfect mouth between her thighs, licking her folds apart and pressing her tongue inside.

It’s just the pressure, nothing flashy, that brings Lydia to completion a second time, and she bites down on her lips in an attempt to muffle that noise when her orgasm rolls through her. It’s effective overall, but Allison is close enough to where she can still hear it, and she kisses Lydia softly as a reward, letting her fingers release slowly so as not to leave her shocked. Lydia’s mouth opens up as perfectly as her cunt had, and she doesn’t resist at all when Allison moves to deepen their kiss.

Kissing Lydia is nothing short of perfect, especially when the younger girl is coming off of two recent orgasms and is as pliant as anything. Allison could waste hours, and she has, with just Lydia sucking on her tongue while the girl rubs her clit through her underwear on one of Allison’s thighs. It’s a perfect an afternoon as any with Lydia, but right now Allison can think of better uses for Lydia’s mouth.

She gathers up as much slick as she can, scooping it from between Lydia’s thighs as the girl tenses at the overstimulation. She tenses but she doesn’t move away, because she’d let Allison work her through another if she wanted to. Lydia would sit there and let Allison fit three fingers into her again, maybe stretch her up to four, working them inside and then give her another climax if that’s what Allison wanted.

Today, though, that isn’t in the plans. Allison collects what she can, satisfaction practically coming off her in waves with the knowledge that she could do more if she’d like, and then she pulls away to press her fingers into Lydia’s mouth. 

The taste of herself is something that Lydia can’t get enough of, and she sucks at Allison’s fingers with aplomb. After Allison has eaten Lydia out, the girl demands to be kissed, dragging Allison up her front to delve into the mouth that brought her to completion, sucking on her tongue and working her clit with her own hand.

The first time that happened, Allison shoved her hand aside to replace it with hers, pushing fingers inside of her as Lydia moaned and her walls spasmed, too quickly for it to be from anything else.

When Allison pulls her fingers free, every trace of Lydia’s juices gone from them, she shifts off of Lydia’s lap and stands up. The clock on the wall is a few minutes fast to make sure that she always makes it to her meetings on time, and while Lydia isn’t often her distraction, it doesn’t change the responsibilities that she shoulders as the school’s headmistress.

“As good as you dreamed of?” she checks, opening a desk drawer and pulling out a compact mirror.

Chest still heaving, Lydia props herself up first by her elbows and then comes into a sitting position before sliding off the desk. She keeps her hands on the edge, possibly in case she’s still weak in the knees, and Allison doesn’t bother to suppress the smile that cross her mouth at the thought.

“The dream had a second part,” she says coyly, accepting the mirror when Allison passes it over. “I got you off afterwards.”

Allison sets the lipstick she’d reapplied back into her purse, walking to the other side of the desk and taking her seat. “And just how did you do that?”

Swallowing, Lydia tells her, “I used my mouth. Licked you open and kept at it until you were coming, trapping me against you with your legs.”

It’s a vision that Allison can imagine so easily, something that they haven’t had time for in recent weeks with graduation approaching. She shifts her hips slightly, hoping that Lydia doesn’t notice the motion, a dead giveaway to what she won’t be able to stop thinking about once she walks out the door. “Why don’t you come by after school? I think we can take a crack at the second part of your dream.”


End file.
